


Gone With the Sin

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Blood As Lube, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes to meet Voldemort in the forest to die. Voldemort is enticed by Harry’s beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone With the Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Title shares the name with a HIM song which was inspiration for this story.
> 
> The story itself is inspired by a line from the poem ‘The Erlking’, by J. W. Goethe. The line is: ‘I love you; I'm charmed by your beautiful form; And if you're not willing, then I'll use force’. 
> 
> Finally, thank you to hikarievandar for an excuse to write this. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Please see end notes for additional warnings/potential spoilers.

With every step he takes, he longs to take one back.

There are no birds singing or creatures creeping through the undergrowth, and the only sounds that Harry can hear are his wheezing breath and the crunching of twigs beneath his feet. 

Much like Harry will soon be, the forest is dead. 

When he reaches the clearing he ignores Hagrid, trying to block out his pleas, and he ignores the way the Death Eaters leer at him and laugh. Harry only has eyes for Voldemort, and it seems that the attention is returned.

“Leave us,” Voldemort commands of his followers. “Tell them all that Potter is dead, and I will soon be bringing his body to their feet.”

All but Bellatrix silently shuffle away, like wind-up toy soldiers who live solely to do their master’s bidding. Harry supposes that if they didn’t live like that then they’d be dead, too.

Bellatrix glares at Harry, as though it’s his fault Voldemort hasn’t been able to kill him before now, before she kneels on the ground in front of her lord.

“Please, my Lord; allow me to stay,” Bellatrix begs, clutching at Voldemort’s robes. “I long to see the boy die.”

“The boy is mine and mine alone,” Voldemort tells her coldly. “But your devotion and enthusiasm will be rewarded, Bellatrix. The Longbottom boy is my gift to you. Now leave us.”

“Yes, my Lord, thank you, thank you,” Bellatrix croons as she backs away, disappearing through the thick trees which feel like they’ve closed up to trap Harry here.

The trees don’t need to trap him; Harry has to be here regardless if he wants to be or not.

It’s just him and Voldemort now, and Harry realises that his death is only moments away.

But Voldemort doesn’t yet draw his wand. Instead he stands in front of Harry and studies him, his red eyes unblinking as he rakes in every inch of his body. Harry feels like he’s being devoured, like helpless prey being stalked by a predator. For the first time in his life, Voldemort has made Harry feel vulnerable and he did it without raising his wand.

“You’re beautiful,” Voldemort says, and his words take Harry by surprise.

Voldemort reaches his finger out and touches Harry’s cheek, and Harry tries not to flinch. Voldemort’s yellowed nail digs into Harry’s skin as it is drawn down his face, and he feels the blood slowly spilling from the cut left behind.

Harry really wishes that Voldemort would get on with it.

“I was beautiful once,” Voldemort laments, pulling his blood stained finger to his mouth and lapping up the essence of Harry’s life with his forked tongue. “I gave up that beauty for power and immortality, and now you’re giving up your beauty for death. Are you pure, boy?”

Harry blinks. He is certain he must have misheard, but what else could Voldemort have said?

Harry shrugs. “I’ve never had sex, if that’s what you mean,” he says bluntly. He can’t imagine Voldemort has had sex either, but he doesn’t ask. 

Voldemort looks at Harry thoughtfully, his fingers returning to Harry’s face. This time they trace his scar, and a shiver runs down Harry’s spine. 

“I wish to have you,” Voldemort remarks.

Harry feels like he’s stepped into a nightmare. He can’t imagine that this is truly happening, but the pain and the blood on Harry’s cheek are testament that he’s awake.

Voldemort isn’t troubled by Harry’s discomfort. “If you don’t give me your consent then I shall use other means to have my way with you.”

Harry’s instinct is to back away and draw his wand, to say that he’d never willingly submit to Voldemort, and fight until he is finally overpowered and...violated. It would be brutal and agonising, but better that than being to any degree willing, surely?

But then, Harry thinks, to do that would mean giving up all his control. His body and mind would be prey to Voldemort’s cruelty, but if Harry allowed Voldemort to have his body, then Harry would have his mind and thus be in control.

After all, they both know that Harry will soon be dead, but only Harry knows that so will Voldemort.

Harry takes a deep breath. “You can have me,” he says. He thought he would regret saying the words but he finds that he doesn’t.

Voldemort smiles coldly, his features twisting as his lipless mouth widens. Even then, Harry doesn’t regret his choice.

“Remove your clothes,” Voldemort orders.

Harry doesn’t fight. This is the first positive to his answer - he has the right to make his own demands. Voldemort doesn’t have to listen, but at least Harry gets to ask.

“I want to be dressed when you kill me,” he says as he steps out of his shoes. The ground is wet and cold beneath his feet. 

Harry saw in the Muggle news once about a young woman who had been murdered the next town over from Little Whinging. She had been stripped, raped, and strangled, and her nude, lifeless body had been discarded in a dumpster like she had been worth nothing.

Harry wants more dignity than that, and he is pleased when Voldemort nods.

Harry sheds the rest of his clothes and resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He doesn’t want Voldemort to see that he’s uncomfortable, so he stands open and ready for Voldemort’s devouring gaze. 

Voldemort’s eyes rake the length of Harry’s body, flicking his tongue out to lick where his lips should be.

Harry assumes that this is because he likes what he sees, but he doesn’t know what there is to like. Harry is too pale and too bony, littered in scars and cuts and bruises. Harry looks like death, but Voldemort must like that. 

“To the tree,” Voldemort directs, pointing towards a large oak tree which is splattered with blood. Harry doesn’t know who the blood belongs to, but it looks fresh.

Harry wraps his arms around the tree and closes his eyes, grateful for a chance to hide his unease at last. He can still feel Voldemort behind him, though, and he tenses when sharp nails draw lines down his back.

“You need lubricant,” Harry tells him, and it is the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Voldemort hisses, bringing a hand around Harry’s body and placing it on his near-concave stomach. The underneath of Voldemort’s nails are already stained with blood, and soon the yellow is washed away by red as he presses them into Harry’s stomach.

Harry allows himself a whimper at the pain, and Voldemort seems to like that. He moves his hand a little lower, not far from Harry’s soft cock, and presses his nails in again. 

Then Voldemort pulls his hand away and presses two of those fingers against Harry’s entrance.

Harry feels nauseous, but if it’s blood or nothing, he’ll take the blood.

Somehow, Voldemort manages not to tear Harry’s insides open as presses his fingers into him. The blood manages to ease the passage, and Harry thinks it’s an accident when Voldemort’s fingers brush his prostate, but it feels good anyway. 

Having this feel good, even just for a little bit, makes Harry’s face burn in shame.

“Lay on the ground,” Voldemort tells him as he removes his fingers from Harry. “I want you to see my face while I take your purity.”

Harry doesn’t think he can get away with asking Voldemort to do him from behind, so he complies and tries to find a position where the stones and twigs don’t press into his back. He isn’t successful.

Voldemort kneels down and grabs Harry’s legs, pushing them to his chest.

“Hold yourself open,” Voldemort says.

Harry hooks his hands under his knees as Voldemort presses himself between Harry’s legs.

Voldemort shifts his robes open, and Harry gets a brief glimpse of his cock. It is long and thin, white with just a subtle hint of pale pink in places, and Harry isn’t sure but the head of it looks like it’s scaly.

And then it is pushing inside Harry, forceful and burning, and Harry wants to fight. He wants to take back his consent and try to throw Voldemort off him, to Summon his clothes and run away.

He can’t do that, of course.

But then Voldemort asks, “how does it feel to have me inside you?”

And Harry remembers then that Voldemort has always been inside him, and of the three people who knew, two of them are dead. Voldemort has no idea that a piece of his soul resides in Harry, and when he kills Harry that piece of soul will die with him.

There is sick satisfaction for Harry then, watching Voldemort fuck him and feeling his cock in his body, knowing that Voldemort will soon be dead and having no idea.

Submitting his body to Voldemort is no longer an issue, because he submitted his body the moment he chose to meet Voldemort in the forest. Voldemort can do what he wants to Harry, because after he’s done he will kill Harry and seal his fate.

Voldemort’s fingers curl around Harry’s neck, and Harry wills himself not to panic as the fingers press down.

Voldemort wouldn’t kill him like that, Harry tells himself. It’s too...Muggle, and mundane. But he is still relieved when the pressure is lifted.

“Your life is in my hands,” Voldemort laughs, tightening his fingers again, harder this time. 

Harry’s body fights his mind this time, arching and stiffening, and gasping for breath until Voldemort releases him.

Voldemort’s thrusting quickens, and he is pushing inside Harry hard and fast. The burning hasn’t eased but it’s bearable, and Harry thinks Voldemort is close to finishing.

“Do you think they’ll know how I’ve defiled you, Harry, when they claim your body?” Voldemort is strangling Harry again, and there is a true moment of fear that Voldemort has decided to murder him this way. “You’ve fallen so far; a willing whore and a willing dead man.”

Voldemort stiffens, and Harry’s eyes are bulging, and just when he thinks his lungs are going to give out, Voldemort’s fingers slacken as he releases inside Harry.

Harry is still soft.

He gasps for breath, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the burning in his arse, and he remains on the ground as Voldemort gets to his feet and magics Harry’s clothes to him. 

Harry stands up and dresses quickly. He wonders if they’ll strip him before they bury him to change him into nicer clothes, and wonders what they’ll think when they see the cuts on his stomach, the bruises on his neck, and the come staining his thighs. 

“You were a...worthy...adversary,” Voldemort admits bitterly as he trains his wand on Harry. “But you chose the wrong side, and now you must die.”

Harry closes his eyes, but even then he can still see the flash of green before it claims him.

When Harry opens his eyes again, he is in Kings Cross station.

Dumbledore is waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Contains major character death (but it's only Harry's canon 'death')
> 
> Please show your appreciation for the author here, or on [LIVEJOURNAL](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/22503.html)! ♥


End file.
